You’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?" Seeing someone else? How on earth could that explain any of this? Why would seeing someone else necessitate bringing home a middle­-aged woman, a teenaged punk and an American with a leather jacket and a Rod Stewart haircut? What would the story have been? But then, after reflection, I realised that Penny had probably been here before, and therefore knew that infidelity can usually provide the answer to any domestic mystery. If I had walked in with Sheena Easton and Donald Rumsfeld, Penny would probably have scratched her head for a few seconds before saying exactly the same thing. In other circumstances, on other evenings, it would have been the right conclusion, too; I used to be pretty resourceful when I was being unfaithful to Cindy, even if I do say so myself. I once drove a new BMW into a wall, simply because I needed to explain a four­-hour delay in getting home from work. Cindy came out into the street to inspect the crumpled bonnet, looked at me, and said, “You’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?” I denied it, of course. But then, anything – smashing up a new car, persuading Donald Rumsfeld to come to an Islington flat in the early hours of New Year’s Day – is easier than actually telling the truth. That look you get, the look which lets you see right through the eyes and down into the place where she keeps all the hurt and the rage and the loathing... Who wouldn’t go that extra yard to avoid it?

Dear Mary Duende, It's freezing here in the trenches, but loneliness is colder than any hyperthermia. Gunshots and shrapnel have become my companions. But life is better now than it was when I was at the law firm. How are our children? Does Pierre still spend his days roaming the countryside collecting cattle skulls? Maybe one day people will see the value of making soup bowls out of skulls. Pay no attention to the blood smears on this letter, for it is neither mine, nor any other human. We had to sacrifice our sheep to gain some ground. The blood kind of looks like spaghetti sauce in the light of the setting sun, but I wish it tasted as good as your spaghetti sauce. I'm sorry I slept with your sister. I didn't realize she was an invalid. Even though her hair smelled like horse entrails, I still should have refrained myself. I have no hobbies now, so I've taken up biting my fingernails as I ponder life's many psychological constructs. I have enclosed some of yesterday's fingernails, so you could put them in your brassiere and think of me as they scratch your bosom the way I used to do in jealousy when you were nursing Pierre. The Germans are shooting at us again, so I'd better close here. I send my love in the form of a bloody sock off my left foot. Think of me as you huff it. I miss the way your hair smelled as it would fall across my face. When are you going to send me some more clippings and glue, so I might attach it to my forehead? It brings me great luck in combat. With Love, Lorca Duende

I have been holding in a lot of things wanting to say them but refuse to because it's irrelevant. I don't want to jeopardize what we have but I am sensing we have nothing and hence I am trying to save something that does not even exist. Loving you is like trying to catch water using a basket...You see my life is complicated and because it is complicated I realize that I am nothing but a placeholder to you. I can't make any demands on you because I have my man... Yes you wield this knowledge above my head, it is the central notion that keeps me from demanding a commitment from you. I cannot ask you to be my man because i already have One. I must be a special kind of stupid, putting everything on the line, inconveniencing my life and risking stability, knowing you might never ever really trust me. I am after all a woman who cheats on her man.And as such you have little respect or sense of loyalty to me. The Indecorous way in which you have treated me these recent days is nothing short of an outright disregard for my feelings. I am tired of it. I don't need this shit. You say your world does not revolve around me but everything in this non-relationship revolves around you. I am constantly at the mercy,beck and call of your mood, desires and inclination. I obviously don't have a say here. You have used my loveless relationship against me and i have used you as an escape from the doldrums of my personal life.I have been hanging on by a thread. I am letting it go now. May the chips fall where they may. But maybe am silly, I mean i am ready to leave the man i am certain about for the uncertainty and novelty of our non-relationship.I keep getting pushed back two places for other women, real, old, new or imagined. All because i already have a man. Its not that i do not want to leave him but i need to be sure that you at least want me. I have a penchant for fooling myself into thinking I can ever have something with someone like you and every time I end up disappointed. I need to grow up. I cannot have my cake and eat it too. But i cannot leave my man for a nigga , who am not sure even wants me. Deuces!!!The Bunna ManCopyright © 2015Paperback Available June 02, 2015Preview on Amazon May 22ndCrystal A EvansThe Saga Continues...